


We Don't Fish Anymore

by AerithQOC



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, Everyone Needs A Hug, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-13
Updated: 2017-08-13
Packaged: 2018-12-14 21:08:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11791518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AerithQOC/pseuds/AerithQOC
Summary: Rebuilding the world didn’t leave much time to grieve for what had been lost.In the end, it was the little things that broke them apart.





	We Don't Fish Anymore

**Author's Note:**

> Started this a while back after finishing the game and got in a mood to finish it.
> 
> These boys deserved a happy ending... though I still didn't give them one. I'm sorry, I just love the angst!

Rebuilding the world didn’t leave much time to grieve for what had been lost.

Ridding Insomnia of the monsters within was only the first step. Organising the restoration of the cities homes and buildings, working around the new layout of the land, recording and increasing their resources – it was all tiring work that left little time for anything else.

The only moment that came close to breaking them was the first moment after it was all over when they finally laid eyes on their fallen King. The bitterness of witnessing him resting on the throne, proud and tall and gone so far away, was a sharp sting to them all.

Removing their friend’s body was a sobering moment, as was laying him to rest in his tomb. The built the tomb themselves and placed it high on a hill, resting on newly blooming grass and where the sun blazed high and shined brightest.

They didn’t cry removing the sword from his body, they didn’t cry stacking bricks and spreading mortar whilst building the tomb (“The Tomb of The Vanquisher” it had been dubbed, “The Tomb of the Last” was another bittersweet title) and they didn’t cry when the face of their king disappeared for the very last time beneath the lid of a stone coffin - they couldn’t. The couldn't, they had to be strong for the people of Lucis, for their King.

It was only afterwards, when they left Insomnia in a stable and protected state to experience the world outside, that they were allowed their time to reflect and remember.

_“Walk tall, my friends...”_

In the end, it was the little things that broke them apart.

\--

It took only one visit to decide that Galdin Quay was off limits to them now.

It was renovated and returned to glory incredibly quickly. The chefs migrating back and the locals visiting more so than ever as it was the only vacation destination left in Lucis for the moment.

When the three stepped onto the familiar decking, it brought a wave of nostalgia back in way that they couldn’t describe. Tapping down the decking towards what used to be the main restaurant and hotel only took them further and further back in time.

Fish whipped quickly by in the water below, they were only petite but would be big enough to catch in just a few short months. Prompto shuffled around and looked around for something over the edge of the beach.

“Cats” he murmured before lowering his head in embarrassment. Ignis merely shook his head with a fond smirk.

The patisserie chef from all those years ago had also returned though her face and body told of the struggles she too had been through in those years.

“I don’t really care what happened in the past. It won’t stop me.” Coctura had said, clenching the empty sleeve on the other side of her chefs jacket. “One arm, no arms. I don’t care. I didn’t survive this long just to stop myself from returning to the work I love.”

Each of them may have fallen a little in love with her at that moment.

Dino’s bench on the dock was still intact, though the man himself had not been heard of in almost eight years.

They hope he made it.

It wasn’t until they were handed the keys to the boat and took it all the way to the island that reality sank in as they made their way through a maze and into a stone room.

It smelled disgusting, of rot and lingering sweat and toil. But a single scent lingered, ten years in the making, faint but still there. Ignis’ sudden wail of grief was all that was heard in the dark room.

Ignis never wanted to be a burden and had worked hard since the destruction of Altissia to prove his continued competence even without his sight. In that moment, with weak legs and tears leaking from sightless eyes, he didn’t object at all when Gladiolus and Prompto linked their arms with his and led him away.

Walking down the dock, there was no more nostalgia. No more shiny fish, no more Ulwaat berries, no cats cooing their delight at a free meal. There was just a prison and the beginning of the end.

Gladiolus floored it out of there in their dented, noisy car all the way back towards Hammerhead.

They never looked back.

\--

Driving to Lestallum to visit Iris, as well as the little band of survivors they had all worked with during the "Decade of Darkness", was an uplifting moment in their journey.

Gladio took the scenic route, letting them all appreciate the wonders still left in the world and the new ones now growing.

Ignis just seemed to appreciate the silence and the fresh air on his face, judging by the small smile.

“Wow! Look at that!”

Prompto’s voice screeched as he moved to the window in the back seat and pressed his face against already smudged glass.

The Disc of Cauthess loomed close by, some of the rock and crystal formations created by the meteor had been damaged but most still bloomed from the ground, stretched excitedly towards the light in the sky.

It shone in the sunlight in a way that they had never seen it before.

There was a rustling in the backseat as Prompto reached for his camera bag (old and damaged, but still working hard just like its owner).

“Guys, we need to stop for a picture! Come on, _please_! Can we please stop here Noct-”

He stopped abruptly, staring at the back of the driver’s head. Dark hair, spiked daringly, but not the right way.

For a moment, he had forgotten. Just for a moment.

Gladiolus didn’t even flinch; he had already steeled himself the moment Prompto’s voice hit a pitch it hadn’t quite been able to reach in such a long time (Ignis’ hand resting patiently on his arm had also helped).

For Prompto though, the silence was another reminder. Nothing would ever be the same again. There would always be an empty seat in their car, at their table, in their campsite - a seat that would never again be filled.

He sat back down and ignored the gorgeous formations in the distance as it rolled further and further away, the peaks still reaching but never quite making it.

With a sniffle and a cough, Prompto zipped his camera bag back up and set it on the space beside him in the back of the car. He closed his eyes tightly and settled down again.

“N-Nevermind. It doesn’t matter.”

\--

It was Iris who broke Gladiolus.

She had become so much stronger in the time since Insomnia fell.

However, no matter how skilled she became at shooting a gun, at swinging a sword, at knocking down foes twice her size, to Gladio, Iris would always be his baby sister. Always.

She had set up her new life in Lestallum now, a place which had become a beacon for the world now. Its views were always glorious, its buildings forever standing, and its people never wavering. It was a constant and it was always welcoming.

When they walked towards Iris' home and she opened her door to greet them, Gladio almost fell backwards.

Last time he had seen her, Iris’ long hair was tied in a tight plait with a sword tied to one side and a gun holster on the other. Her face solemn and eyes so very tired.

Now though... her hair was cut into a short bob, any stress-given grey hairs had been dyed back to a chestnut brown, and she was dressed in a simple, white sundress. Not a weapon in sight and a luminous smile destroying the years of turmoil.

She cried each of their names as she hugged them all individually. She ushered them inside her home, settling each of them down in a chair and chattering quickly before leaving the room to prepare some tea.

Gladio’s eyes followed her as she disappeared into the kitchen. She looked so happy – happier than he’d seen her in such a long time and it was impossible not to notice the weight that suddenly lifted from his shoulders when he saw his baby sister smile again.

He moved to take a seat when a flash of dusty pink stopped him.

Prompto whispered his name and Ignis tilted his head purposely in his direction, but it didn’t halt Gladio’s step as he walked towards the corner table by the open window and stared.

A simple black vase, with cracks painted in gold, held the beautiful flowers. He stroked a finger across a withering petal. Easily recognisable, the scent so distinct.

When Iris came back into the room and placed a tray on the coffee table, Gladiolus didn’t even lift his head.

Iris looked at him for a moment before tucking one of her short strands of hair behind her ear and grasping the handle of the teapot.

“Yeah... they’re nice, huh? I make sure to get a bouquet every week. They’re my favourite. So glad they’re still growing even after everything that’s happened.” She said pursing her lips as she poured tea into mismatched mugs.

Just like that it started, and Gladio’s shoulders visibly shook – like a tidal wave was washing over him and there was nothing to stop him from being swept away.

When he brought his hand to his face and grasped at the noise trying to escape his mouth, it was Ignis who made it to him first, who squeezed his shoulder and told him it was alright.

It wasn’t alright though. It was far from alright.

_“Well I’d- I’d like you to give her the flower. That will mean even more to her.”_

The volcanic bouquet just sat innocently in the vase, completely oblivious as the pink flowers swayed gently in the breeze.

\--

The Vesperpool had been ravaged by the "Decade of Darkness", and yet, as the trees and plants and flowers grew into new and winding shapes and patterns, it still looked as beautiful as ever.

A colony of people had ventured out this far to set up a new life, and they had prospered well in the short time they had been out there. It would no doubt be a bustling town in no time.

And in the middle of it all, with a new wooden shack but the same old, battered sign, was the old man who had owned the main tackle shop in the Vesperpool all those years ago. Bert was still a jovial, grinning figure, like the terrors of the past had left him untouched. It was a refreshing change.

When Bert laid eyes on them finally, his smile grew beyond words and he ran straight to them, shaking hands and grabbing arms and giving them his thanks and his blessings.

The name of their King was mentioned of course and, no matter how many times it was said, they couldn’t stop the sharp stab in their chests when it was said. It was an open wound that would never quite heal.

Bert looked back and forth at them and gave another smile, much smaller than the last but no less hopeful. “But you know... a lot of folks are still breathin' thanks to you four. Got a whole future ahead of 'em again, an' that means everythin'.”

The three of them gazed steadfast over the water, taking in the damp smell of the Vesperpool and releasing mutual sighs.

“It was what we set out to do, right?”

“Yeah... Yeah, sure.” Bert looked around awkwardly for a moment before he clapped his hands together purposely. “Well we gotta make the most of it right? Here, let me give you some gear – on the house, of course. Been a while since you’ve been down these parts! The dace and the vespa are back and they are biting like beauts!”

“No no no! Thanks, that’s okay!” Prompto squeaked, shaking his head. “It was only ever him who-... I mean, we don’t uh... _we_ don’t...”

The surprise was clear on his face when his words started shaking into oblivion. His gaze wandered back and forth across the Vesperpool where the old fishing spots used to stand and his breath came in trembling waves. Empty. All gone. Rebuilt, but never the same.

And Prompto buried his face in his hands, words dissolving into a choked noise – a noise that sounded vaguely like a name but mostly like a sob.

Ignis remained quiet at the echoing thud of Prompto’s knees hitting the ground and loud warbles escaping his lips. No smile, no frown. Just a statue looking over the water, unseeing and unmoving.

Gladiolus took a deep breath, stepping towards Prompto and squeezing his shoulder tightly to ground him.

The slosh of water in the distance did nothing to stop the flow of memories.

Of a young man, burdened by purpose and pushed down with the weight of a terrible destiny, and how every so often he would grin brightly, or smile sardonically.

How, every so often, he would walk towards the water and summon his rod with a bright light in his hands and in his eyes.

In their minds eye, they could almost see him even now. Kneeling on the dock, arms shuffling and pulling, a prize hanging from his hand, hard fought and well won, and they really could see it – how he would turn around with a proud, arrogant, innocent grin and wave the fish and demand praise and a photo and a new recipe – and – and -

_“He’s not coming back this time, is he?”_

“Sorry, but no thanks.” Gladio said slowly, hoarsely. “We don’t fish anymore.”

 


End file.
